The Edge of Strange Hollow

scream rattled through the fog. Dog tucked their tail and took off running.
“Go!” Mack said.
They ran.
Nula was a lynx again, streaking through the trees like a ribbon. She passed Dog, and the cerberus raced forward, following Nula’s every zig and zag. Mack ran straight ahead, and although his stride outpaced Poppy’s, he stayed with her. They leaped over a fallen tree as behind them another wail rose.
Poppy risked a look back.
A woman made of fog and darkness swept toward them with wide blank eyes and open mouth. Her hair didn’t move at all. She had no feet.
Poppy stumbled. “What is it?” she rasped as Mack hauled her up.
“Banshee,” he said, panting. “I think it’s a banshee! Run for the river!”
Poppy put on a burst of speed. She could feel the cold behind her like a wind at her back.
Mack’s voice was ragged. “If an angry banshee catches us, we’re done. It’ll suck the life right out of us.”
“Which way’s the river?”
Mack pointed west and they cut to the left. Nula and Dog were way ahead, and Poppy hoped they were okay as she and Mack crashed through the undergrowth behind them. She tacked right to avoid a thorn tree and regretted letting go of Dog. What if they ran under one of the trees and the banshee grabbed them?
“I hear the river,” Mack gasped.
The sound of water rushing was like a beacon. They half ran, half fell down a steep slope. Dirt cascaded into Poppy’s boots. The river was fast and wide but didn’t look too deep. There was no time to consider it further as she stumbled in, Mack right behind her. The fog rolled down the hill and stopped abruptly a few feet from the water. It rose into a wall that danced and swirled as something unseen paced back and forth inside.
Poppy leaned forward to catch her breath. The water was ice cold but thankfully didn’t penetrate her boots. She looked upstream and saw Nula and Dog hurrying down the river toward them. Her lungs filled. Thank goodness. As soon as they were in reach, she pulled all three of Dog’s heads close, rubbing her forehead against Two. “Good dog,” she murmured as Eta kissed her cheek.
Poppy looked back up at the wall of fog, wondering how long the banshee would wait.
Next to her, Nula was wide-eyed and twitchy. Her skin had gone a deeper shade of blue. “Banshees aren’t usually so aggressive,” she said, wiping blue beads of sweat from her brow. “But I’m sure it will leave soon,” she added in a whisper as if she had heard Poppy’s thoughts and was trying to convince them both.
Mack cast a look at her. “Banshees are tied, either to their graves or to their families. They aren’t meant to be aggressive at all … unless they’re disturbed … which, I guess, this one was.” He frowned. “Anyway, they can’t go too far, so we should be out of her territory soon.”
Poppy pressed her lips together. “We’ll cross to the shore on the other side.”
Poppy spun and marched toward the opposite bank, trying not to splash water over the tops of her boots. The river stayed shallow. She felt a rush of gratitude for practical footwear as she reached the other side and let her pack drop to the ground. She yanked out her journal.
Nula leaned toward Mack. “What’s she doing?”
Mack snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say she’s making a little map showing the banshee grave … maybe taking a few notes?”
Poppy nodded, but otherwise ignored them.
“Now?”
Mack shrugged. “The banshee won’t cross the river. Poppy doesn’t want to forget.”
Nula cast a hopeful look at Poppy. “You did bring lunch though, right?”
Poppy lifted her face to Nula’s and pulled a face, aiming her thumb at her pack. “Of course I did. I want to get a little farther first though.”
Nula frowned. “Oh. Of course you thought of that. I should have known. You’re smarter than me, probably,” she added. Something flickered through Nula’s eyes, but it was gone before Poppy could even be sure she’d seen it.
The fog had faded back, but Poppy still felt as though something watched them from inside the white billows on the other side of the river. She wouldn’t pass this way again if she could help it. “Right,” she said. “I think all we need to do is follow the river upstream to reach the Holly Oak.”
“Agreed,” Mack said.
Nula paused. “The Fae are west.”
Poppy scowled.
Nula held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay,” she muttered, and proceeded to chat at Dog.
By the time the thin rays of early afternoon sun trickled through the forest canopy, all Poppy could hear was the sound of Mack’s stomach growling. She stopped under a giant oak. The ground below it was littered with acorns.
“Perfect!” The pooka let out a little squeal and set to gathering them, while Dog trotted behind her hoping for a game of fetch.
Mack let out a groan and sank to sit with his back against the tree. He tipped his head back and looked up into the tree. “I’m famished.”
Poppy’s mouth twitched. “Hard to argue with that,” she replied, pausing to look around for anything that might be lurking in the shadows before she dropped her pack off her shoulders. She collapsed to the ground and let herself lie back next to Mack, brushing away the acorns from underneath her. Above them, the branches shifted in the slight breeze, light shaking down through the leaves as they danced. She pushed the pack toward Mack. “Sandwiches.”
He grinned at her and sat up to dig inside, fishing out three of the wrapped boar sandwiches she’d piled inside. He handed one to Nula who took it and sniffed at the mustard.
Poppy watched. “Homemade,” she explained, with a pang. She loved Jute’s mustard. Where had he been that morning? Sending word to her parents about what she’d done, most likely. What was he doing now? Pacing the floor, and worrying, if she had to guess.
“Careful,” Mack told Nula.